“Up!” One of the Indomitables, who had a line of silver etched into the blue stripe across the forehead of his spike-rimmed helm, kicked at the old man. “Up!”
The old man cried out and attempted to crawl out of the way. His arms and legs quivered with the effort of trying to stand, and he fell with a little groan.
“On your feet, now!” The Indomitable bent over the man, a scowl on his face. “You Mahjuri know better than to dirty up the Artisan’s Tier with your filth. Get out of here before we’re forced to arrest you!”
Again, the withered man tried and failed to stand.
“So be it!” The Indomitable snapped his fingers at his men. “Take him.”
“Why?” The angry shout came from nearby. Kodyn scanned the passersby that had stopped to watch and found the speaker was a young man wearing the red headband and simple clothing of an Earaqi laborer. “There’s no call for that. He’s just—”
“You dare?” The black-armored officer stepped up to the young man and loomed over him, his face a mask of outrage. “You’ve one chance to step back before you get hauled in as well.”
“For speaking up against such mistreatment?” This time, the voice belonged to a woman with threads of grey running through her black hair and a simple brown strip of leather around her forehead. “There’s no reason to…”
Kodyn hurried away from the scene before he got caught up in anything nasty. The mood of the crowd was dark, anger blazing in the eyes of the Mahjuri, Earaqi, and even a few Intaji and Zadii on Death Row.
Reaching the Artificer’s Courseway, he hurried west, in the direction of the row of blacksmith shops. He reached it five minutes before he’d told the Black Widow’s courier he’d be there, just enough time to find a comfortable place to wait and watch from across the street. He preferred to see the Black Widow’s courier before they spotted him—his mother had taught him the value of always having the upper hand in any sort of clandestine activities.
A hint of anxiety roiled through him at the thought of meeting with the Black Widow. Their last encounter had gone as well as he could have hoped, but life in the Night Guild had taught him never to take such things for granted when dealing with powerful people—especially powerful people in the criminal underworld. Allies could turn to enemies with the wrong word or the right coin.
At this time of the afternoon, the crowd of people was thick, men and women hurrying to conclude their business before the sun set and the day ended. Kodyn had always loved to watch the crowds in Old Town Market or the Path of Penitence in Praamis. From his perch on the rooftops of the Hawk’s Highway, it felt like following the shifting tides of the ocean. He could see the way people flowed out of the path of heavily-laden carts, shuffled around the thugs guarding the goldsmiths’ and jewelers’ shops, or swirled between people headed in the opposite direction. Like a dance with an entire city’s population taking to an open-air dance floor.
Something in the street caught his attention. Four men—clad in laborer’s clothing and black Mahjuri headbands—moved through the crowd in a strange way. Instead of flowing with the surging traffic, they seemed to cut at a strange angle. Kodyn had spent enough time as a thief on the streets of Praamis to instantly recognize sneaking, suspicious behavior. Everything from their wary gazes to the way they always looked over their shoulders to their pulled-up hoods set his instincts immediately on alert.
He kept his head down and his posture relaxed, but his eyes tracked their movement through the swirling crowds. The more he watched them, the more convinced he became that they were up to no good. He’d learned to move that way from Errik, Master of the assassins of House Serpent, and every Fox and Grubber he’d run with during his years on the streets.
An Earaqi hauling a huge bale of hay bumped into one of the men, nearly knocking him from his feet. Had the man been about honest business, he likely would have snarled or hurled an insult. Instead, he simply recovered and hurried after his comrades.
But as he’d flailed to regain his balance, his sleeves had slipped up to his elbows—high enough for Kodyn to catch a glimpse of the tattoo on his right forearm.
Ice seeped down Kodyn’s spine. The mark of the Gatherers! The woven basket fell from his fingers and clattered to the street.
The Gatherers in Praamis had carved that same symbol—an almost-complete circle connected to two lines that bent outward in a perfect right angle, with something that resembled a sun and moon in close alignment in the center of the circle—into the chests of their victims and painted it on the wall of their secret underground lair in blood. The symbol was a combination of two Serenii glyphs: “death and rebirth” and “life beyond”. It had tied the string of murders to the death-worshipping cult that originated here in Shalandra. The threat of their return had been enough to convince his mother to grant permission for him to accompany Briana home.
And now I’ve found them here!
Nervous excitement set his heart thumping against his ribs. He had no doubt they’d try to kill him if they caught him following them, but it was worth the risk. If he found their secret lair, he had little doubt Arch-Guardian Suroth could call on the Keeper’s Blades, Indomitables, or even his own Secret Keepers to raid the Gatherers. Suroth wanted vengeance on the ones that had kidnapped his daughter more than Kodyn did.
Yet, the weight of the pouch in his pocket stopped him. Suroth’s words flashed through his mind. “In the wrong hands, this can be used for truly terrible things.” Whatever lay within that pouch had to be an object of supreme importance. But more important than finding the Gatherers?
No, he decided. The Black Widow can wait. The Gatherers are the more important threat!
Grim determination hardened in his gut as he slipped from his perch and dove into the crowd, abandoning his basket. Even though he hunched to diminish his height, he couldn’t cover up his pale skin. He had to keep far back enough that he could watch the Gatherers without being spotted.
Thankfully, traffic in Industry Square and Commerce Square reached a peak at this hour of the day—men and women hurried to finish up their late-hour shopping. Kodyn could see over the head of most Shalandrans, so had no problem keeping an eye on his quarry.
Savage triumph twisted in his stomach as the Gatherers turn down a street that intersected with the Artificer’s Courseway a short distance west of Commerce Square. He followed them toward the golden sandstone cliff that served as the northern boundary of the Artisan’s Tier, then down the smallest back alley within the shadow of the wall. Peering around a corner, he saw them duck into a one-story structure built against the cliff’s face. He hung back for a minute, waiting to be certain they wouldn’t spot him as he slipped toward the house.
His mother had hammered home the importance of learning the architecture of every city, neighborhood, and street. During the ten-day journey from Praamis, he’d discussed Shalandran architecture with Briana—and eventually Ormroth, after the Keeper’s Blade joined them. Ormroth, a former Zadii and son of an architect, had proven surprisingly well-versed in the city’s design. The Blade had revealed a truly important gem: houses on Shalandra’s, originally carved from the stone of Alshuruq, lacked basements. Even the most decrepit one-room shanty on the Slave’s Tier had at least an attic.
Thatching had to be secured to sloping wooden beams that supported the sways and spars, which meant there would be unused space between the top of the stone walls and the ridge of the roofs. That space would be converted either into storage or an additional room—just the sort of place where a clandestine meeting would be held.
He smiled as he scanned the rough-hewn walls and the rocky cliff face. It’s like they’re begging me to climb it!
The climb took less than a minute—he’d honed his skills on the Perch in House Hawk and the Hawk’s Highway. He didn’t clamber onto the rooftop for fear the rustle of thatching would give him away. And, one glance at the dips and sags in the center of the roof told him that the support beams were either rotten or wa
rped. One of the first lessons every Hawk learned was how to read the surfaces of rooftop for stability and reliability. No way he’d risk plummeting through the thatched roof, not when he could simply hang onto the wall and listen from beneath the eaves.
A low sound reached his ears: voices, muffled by the thatching and stone wall. The opening between the roof and the top of the wall was small, but wide enough that he could hear the conversation within.
“…time is now, Brothers!” a man’s voice said. “We’ve received word from our brother in the Councilor’s mansion. The father will be at a Council meeting tonight, which leaves the daughter guarded only by two foreign youths.”
Kodyn’s gut clenched. They’re talking about Briana.
“I’d prefer taking her alive, but her death will send a clear enough message to the father that he must fall in line. For the sake of a smooth transition, it must be so. Are we clear?”
A round of muffled “Ayes” echoed in the room below.
Kodyn had heard enough. He didn’t understand what “transition” they were talking about or what they expected Suroth to do, but he knew one thing for certain: the Gatherers were making a move on Briana. Tonight.
He glanced up at the sun and found it had already sunk dangerously low over the western horizon. Darkness would fall within an hour.
Heart pounding, he scrambled back off the wall under the eaves and slithered down the side of the house as silently as he could manage. The moment his boots touched the alley, he was racing south toward the Artificer’s Courseway, then west toward the road upward.
Damn, damn, damn! He had to get back to Briana. Arch-Guardian Suroth had his private guards posted at the front gate and patrolling the grounds, but they would be treating it like business as usual. Boredom could dull even the sharpest guard’s attention. Kodyn needed to warn the guards and get to Aisha. We’re Briana’s last line of defense, and I need to be there to protect her.
The slapping of his sandals echoed loud off the stone streets, but he didn’t care. The time for caution and stealth had passed. He’d have to hurry to get back to the Keeper’s Tier and Suroth’s mansion in time to prepare for whatever the Gatherers intended tonight.
Come on! He pushed himself to run faster. Please let me be in time!
Yet, as he turned to race up Death Row, the sight ahead stopped him cold, sent ice flooding his veins.
The incident with the Indomitables had riled the crowd into an ugly mood. More than a hundred low-caste Shalandrans faced a line of black-armored guards that stretched east to west across the highway. Angry shouts and yells echoed from the crowd, and Kodyn could feel the fury simmering just beneath the surface. One wrong word, one misstep from someone in the crowd, and this could turn violent. If he tried to squeeze through, he could be the one to incite uproar.
Horror flooded Kodyn. No! He couldn’t afford even a moment’s delay, not with the looming threat of the attack. He scanned the crowd, trying to find a clear way through, but people were packed too tightly together. Keeper take it!
A wave of hopelessness washed over him. He couldn’t delude himself into believing the Gatherers would be stymied by this crowd. The fact that they’d evaded the Indomitables and Suroth’s searchers for so long meant they had to know secret ways around the city. Ways like the Serenii tunnels that were supposed to be marked on the map Ennolar had given him.
Did Ennolar betray us to the Gatherers? He had given them the map instead, fully expecting the Gatherers to kill Kodyn and Aisha during their attack on Briana’s mansion. With them dead, no one could tell the Black Widow that he’d given them a fake.
Right now, it didn’t matter. Kodyn dove into the crowd, slipping through where he could and shoving where the people packed tightest.
A single thought rang over and over in his mind. I have to get to Briana and Aisha before the Gatherers make their move.
But the reality of his situation filled him with a nagging fear. Could he get through the crowd in time?
I have to! If he didn’t, his friends could end up dead.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Issa struggled to keep her eyes open, her head up. She hadn’t slept in nearly forty-eight hours and after two days of hard training, she felt one breath away from collapse.
But that was precisely why Tannard had done this.
“A Blade’s greatest weapon is not his sword, but his mind,” the Invictus had growled with his usual expressionless severity. “You must be able to fight through your fatigue, to remain clear-headed despite exhaustion. Hunger, pain, weariness—all are weaknesses a Keeper’s servant cannot afford.”
Hunger and weariness, she’d grown accustomed to. Her triumph in the training yard dulled her pain far better than any physicker’s healing draught.
That, and the fact that Kellas had been forced to join her and Etai on guard duty. The bruises and cuts she and Etai had sustained—even the long gash on her belly, courtesy of Tannard’s sharp sword—paled in comparison to the battering he’d taken.
The Dhukari youth’s helmet sat slightly askew atop the bandage wrapped around his head, and he winced every time he drew in a deep breath. Issa had hit him hard enough to make him feel it for a day or two, even with his accelerated healing. The bruises on his face, left by the stamping boots of the charging trainees, had turned an ugly purple. He’d escaped broken bones…barely.
Yes, the sight of Kellas looking so bedraggled certainly made Issa feel better.
He looked like a wet cat in a golden bathtub. Or, in this case, a golden palace.
The Palace of Golden Eternity lived up to its name. From the floor tiles to the pillars to the high-arched ceilings, every inch of the palace’s interior was either plated with or made of gold. Threads of silver and black shalanite ran throughout, adding a color contrast and another layer of extravagance. Any room in the Palace of Golden Eternity held more wealth than the entire Slave’s Tier saw in a lifetime.
That thought set anger burning within her. Such wastefulness! All this for show, when it could be used to feed the people of the lower tiers for the rest of their lives.
Since her tenth nameday, she’d realized the difference between the castes. The Mahjuri were despised, left to starve or succumb to thirst. Only those Kabili actually in service to the Pharus and the Keeper’s Council received anything approaching decent rations, and their access to fresh water on the Slave’s Tier was severely limited. As long as the Earaqi tilled the fields and served the Dhukari, they were fed, but never in abundance. Some Zadii and Intaji could afford the exorbitant prices levied on food supplies by the Keeper’s Council, but most simply survived on their monthly rations.
The Alqati, however, were fed well—Shalandra needed them strong to maintain law and order. Yet their training and service to the city kept them lean. Only the Dhukari could actually afford to be fat. The plumper a Dhukari, the wealthier they were. She’d seen men, women, even children too obese to walk hauled around on litters borne by sixteen slaves. They flaunted their riches in the face of the starving lower castes.
There were a few exceptions. Some of the Dhukari—Kellas, for example—actually chose to remain thin. Mostly those who sought to join the Blades. They remained in good physical condition as their service to the Long Keeper required. The Pharus was another example of a man that hadn’t allowed his wealth and power to go to his belly. It was whispered around the Citadel of Stone that he trained daily with a hand-picked Blade or Indomitable.
“This is an insult,” Kellas’ grumbling drew Issa’s attention back to their duty. “We are Keeper’s Blades and as such should be above such mundane tasks worthy only of an Indomitable.”
“You’re not a Blade yet.” The words were spoken under Etai’s breath—her victory in the training yard had helped her recover from her defeat at Kellas’ hands their first day in the Blades, but the deference of the Dhukari ingrained in every low-caste Shalandran had proven harder to shake.
Issa winked at Etai and shot Kellas a smug
grin. “And, to be fair, you were just trounced by a group of Indomitables.”
“You got lucky, Earaqi.” Kellas scowled at her.
Issa shrugged. “If that’s what you have to tell yourself.” She glowed with the knowledge that she’d not only outsmarted the arrogant Dhukari youth, but she’d gotten one up on Tannard, a twenty-year veteran of the Keeper’s Blades. Kellas couldn’t write that off only as luck.
They fell silent as the Keeper’s Council appeared at the far end of the corridor they’d been set to guard. She and Kellas stood rigid as statues, flammard tips grounded on the gold-tiled floor between their feet, while Etai pulled one of the double doors open for the Councilors. The fat Necroseti in their black robes gave no sign of even acknowledging the Blades’ existence—to them, Issa and the others were as much fixtures in the palace as the golden statues, ornate pillars, or servants in their gold-and-silver clothing.
The brown-robed Secret Keeper—Arch-Guardian Suroth, the man that had administered Issa’s trial of stone—nodded at her.
Issa didn’t move but a small smile tugged at her lips. Yes, today is definitely a good day!
Etai closed the double door and returned to her position between Kellas and Issa.
Issa settled in for a long night of standing guard—Tannard had warned them that their relief wouldn’t arrive until daybreak. She tried to ward off her fatigue by occupying her mind taking in the details of the opulence around her.
They stood in a long corridor that connected the grand hall to the private Council Chambers in the heart of the Palace of Golden Eternity. However, more corridors running east and west intersected with the main hall, providing access to the various wings of the palace. One, the first corridor to Issa’s right, led toward a side door on the eastern side of the Council Chambers. It was used only by the servants delivering refreshments to the Council while they were in session. Two more Blades would remain on guard there until the Councilors had finished their late-night session and left the palace.
Trial of Stone Page 32
